


to the victor, the spoils

by Shamelessly_Radiant



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Based on a Tumblr Post, First Kiss, Fluff, M/M, Snark
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-14
Updated: 2020-09-14
Packaged: 2021-03-06 23:48:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,265
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26463661
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shamelessly_Radiant/pseuds/Shamelessly_Radiant
Summary: There's an old tradition in Camelot: the newest inhabitant of the castle must kiss the victor of the yearly tournament. Merlin is informed of this by a smug prat who only introduces himself as Arthur-no-last-name. But oh well, he'll take his chances. What are the odds that this random man will win?(High, as it turns out- since it turns out that Arthur isArthur Pendragonas in, the bloody Crown Prince of Camelot. And he's set his sights on Merlin.)
Relationships: Merlin/Arthur Pendragon (Merlin)
Comments: 17
Kudos: 328





	to the victor, the spoils

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by this tumblr post: https://mayalunas.tumblr.com/post/627718991999270912/byofp-bring-your-own-fanfic-plot

Arthur wins the tournament.

Of course he does, because he is Arthur _Pendragon._ As in, son of _Uther Pendragon._ As in, the son of the _King_ of Camelot.

Oh, Merlin is in deep shit now. His mum would be so disappointed in him, that he did not even manage to last a whole day being inconspicuous. He’s sure Gaius is giving him the eyebrow somewhere.

As Arthur turns to grin at him, he shrinks back into his seat, desperately looking for an escape route. But there is none. A gesture from the prince, and two guards haul him to his feet and drag him to the centre of the arena, escorted by the whoops and cheers of the public.

As they come face to face, Arthur’s ecstatic grin molds into a smirk, a challenging and almost filthy thing, meant for the privacy that now exists in the scant space between them.

“You neglected to mention _this_ ,” Merlin hisses, and Arthur smirk only grows.

**_._ **

_“There is something about you, Merlin.” The man, who only introduced himself as Arthur, no last name, says finally. He’s been observing Merlin a while now, like a hawk might his prey. The sensation is only exacerbated by the fact that Merlin is still sprawled on the ground before Arthur’s feet._

_After other long moments of contemplation, Arthur unexpectedly offers Merlin a hand up. Merlin’s hesitation only lasts a fraction, but as he just has had his arse handed to him, he thinks it only wise to not antagonise Arthur further, who is obviously a very capable knight._

_Arthur puts more force behind hauling him up than Merlin expects, and Merlin ends up flush to Arthur’s chest. Arthur holds him there for a long moment, in which Merlin is acutely aware of the warmth and broadness of the other man, his heady smell, and his general nearness, as he is also acutely aware of his own cock, and its heavy sway between his legs._

_“Did you know, Merlin,” Arthur says, as he finally releases him, “that there is an old tradition if I win this tournament?”_

_“Oh?” Merlin asks, focused primarily on securing a safe distance between them, before he does something really stupid, like jump his bones in the middle of the courtyard._

_“As the newest inhabitant of the castle, if I win, you’re supposed to kiss me.”_

_“Arrogant, aren’t you?” Merlin says, “Presumptuous. Audacious.”_

_“Those are some big words for a country bumpkin,” Arthur murmurs. Merlin bristles as Arthur’s eyes rake over his form, taking in his threaded clothes, but his indignation goes down quickly when he realises that, well, he might have a point, and also, that his gaze is far more loaded than it should be._

_Still. He can’t let it go without getting the last say. “You’d better keep training then,” he says, then adds, “I don’t think they’ll let you win just because they feel bad you’re so ugly.”_

_One of Arthur’s friends lets out a short shocked, disbelieving laugh. The others inhale sharply. Arthur’s smirk fades a bit, his eyes getting an intent, hard look. “Oh, I’m so going to enjoy having you on your knees,” he says, the threat marked in his words, and heat flashes through Merlin’s whole body._

_They’ve reached a stalemate, it seems. Neither moves. Merlin has trouble swallowing around his dry mouth and moving his paralysed body, and it is only partly due to fear. The lust coursing through him and making his blood bubble is getting the better of him._

_Finally, it is Arthur that breaks the silence. “I’ll see you this afternoon, then,” he drawls. “Make sure you look pretty for me.”_

**_._ **

And now here they are.

“I neglected to mention what, exactly, _Mer_ lin,” Arthur grins, though he absolutely knows, the prat.

“Oh, I don’t know,” Merlin says, “that you are the _Crown prince of Camelot?”_ He meant to say that in a sort of detached, controlled way, but instead it comes out in a panicked rush.

Arthur tilts his face a bit, his eyes roving around on Merlin’s face. He licks his lips, slowly, before replying “oh, but we were having so much _fun_.” He says, all low and seductive, and Merlin hates, hates, hates him. His mouth most definitely does _not_ go dry, and he most definitely does not want to kiss him.

“Well, let’s get this over with then,” Merlin says, adding a low _prat_ under his breath, that Arthur definitely hears going by his amused chuckle, and closes his eyes and sticks out his lips a bit for the kiss.

“Though that’s a lovely invitation,” Arthur drawls, “ _you’re_ supposed to kiss _me._ ”

Oh. Oh. The- the clotpole! Merlin leans in quickly, intent on getting it over with as quickly as possible, but Arthur, predictably, grabs his arms and holds him there. And well, Arthur’s lips are even softer than they looked, and they slide so sweetly against Merlin’s, and his exhale ruffles Merlin’s stubble in exactly the right way, and Merlin kind of forgets that he wanted it over with as quickly as possible.

That doesn’t mean he goes easy. He makes Arthur work for it, at first. Doesn’t immediately open his mouth as Arthur’s tongue flickers softly against his lips. Thing is, he forgets to do so, a bit, after a few seconds. Because Arthur huffs a laugh against his lips, and it is an oddly nice feeling, and Merlin’s mouth opens slightly on its own accord, and Arthur’s mouth feels soft and chapped and lovely against his, and then he tilts his head and the angle is suddenly perfect, and Arthur brings his hands up to stroke his dishevelled hear away from his face, and he sort of scrapes his blunt nails along Merlin’s scalp, and the feeling is nothing short of brilliant.

And Merlin exhales shakily into his mouth and wraps his arms around Arthur’s neck, toying with the short hairs at the back of his skull, and Arthur moans into his mouth and presses closer, inserting a leg between Merlin’s, and Merlin starts to feel lightheaded, and not just to lack of air, and the kiss turns sort of filthy then, open mouthed and sloppy, and Arthur clutches at Merlin’s back, hands roving dangerously low, trying to get him even closer.

There is a clang next to them, and they jump apart to see a knight’s helmet on the field. Merlin, sort of dazed, looks around to see that the crowd has fallen silent by now, a sort of shocked hush spreading out, and the King looks a particular colour of blotched. The Lady Morgana’s eyes glitter in a sort of knowing way, and the knight standing before her is suspiciously missing his helmet and glaring at her. Merlin wants to run and hide, but there is Arthur again, coming closer, whispering in the silence between them, “Come to my chambers this evening,” and giving him a meaningful look before turning and walking away.

**_._ **

And then the next day, Merlin saves Arthur’s life and is appointed as his manservant, though the King doesn’t exactly look pleased by it. Arthur does, though, flicking his eyes too him in a very promising way. He’ll whisper later about lectures of decorum, and Merlin will sneak away to discover a dragon hiding in the cellar as Arthur is busy getting lectured, to discover that apparently, it was destiny anyways. Who knew? Certainly not Merlin. But he’s not complaining, or well, not much. Mucking out the stables remains an unpleasant chore, though, but the nights in Arthur’s bed more than make up for it.


End file.
